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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743534">THE BUTTERLY EFFECT.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orpheusaki/pseuds/orpheusaki'>orpheusaki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But Not For Long!, Enemies to Lovers, Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Other SMP characters are present but not tagged, Reincarnation, Temporary Amnesia, although it's mainly Sapnap, dnf are angsty as per usual</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:55:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,747</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743534</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orpheusaki/pseuds/orpheusaki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's a part of the Chaos Theory." He continues, calm as the world collapses around them, "An idea that one small incident can have a big impact on something that has yet to happen. Like the flap of the butterfly wing could cause an earthquake on the other side of the world. I think we all have moments like that. I know I have."</p><p>George can't hear anything but a part of himself screaming, "What was your small incident?"</p><p>Dream closes his eyes, tips his head back and faces the vast empty skies as the fire of a burning empire beats against his back. You can't see stars in the city.</p><p>"You."</p><p>Or;</p><p>George has dreams. Dreams of a place where there's no wifi but he's a king with magic apples and children who start wars over discs. A world that's almost too good to be true. Or it is, until he meets Clay. And all of a sudden, they don't seem like dreams anymore — but memories.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>269</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. WHEN WE COLLIDE (LITERALLY)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>please be respectful to the cc's!! this is a work of fiction and nothing else; not to be projected onto their real life counterparts.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> "Why do you call yourself that?" </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> George watches as the other man laughs beside him, his shoulders shaking beneath the obnoxious green cape, "Call myself what?" He asked with a slurring tone, like the words bleed into one another as they leave his mouth. They've been awake for a while it seems, the buzzing of being half awake and not quite in his body bubbles beneath George's skin, and he wonders how long it'll be before sleep finally takes him. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> They're sitting on a cliff top — which is probably unwise given their current state — their legs dangling over the edge and into a hundred feet drop. But it's not as scary as it would be in the morning. George can't even see the bottom of the drop; but rather a deep, dark, empty void. He's not afraid of falling head first into something he can't see. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "Dream," George answers with a roll of his eyes, "That can't actually be your name." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He snickers, his expression hidden under the ceramic mask, but George imagines him grinning stupidly. "Oh yeah? What's wrong with it? I think it's pretty cool." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "But why call yourself 'Dream'?" George is laughing with him, their unexplainable burst of glee mixing together and fading into the night. It's one of those strange moments of joy, a place stuck between insanity and reality — where the reason for laughter makes no sense, yet you just can't help but… feel something. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It's cold, and his skin prickles every time a breeze blows a little too heavily — but George's chest is warm. He feels so very warm, in this moment. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "Well," the other begins, rubbing his hands together, like he's about to explain all the secrets of the world. "The thing about a dream is — there are quite a lot of different ones, aren't there? You have the nice ones, the weird ones and the bad ones; but they all end in the same way…" </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He stops suddenly, and George watches him curiously. He watches as the wind gently blows through the tuft of dirty brown hair, tickling the tips of his ears, ghosting over the slice of skin between the mask and his jaw. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "How do they end?" George whispers, wondering if the other man will hear him at all. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> But he does, he always does. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dream sighs, laughing quietly at something George doesn't know, and turns his head to face him. The mask is a vast emptiness, and George can't get enough of it. He's not scared of jumping head first into something he can't see. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> "At some point, you have to wake up." </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <em>Wake up, George. Wake up.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>George awakes with a startle, his eyes flying open and a gasp leaving his mouth all at once. His throat is dry as he heaves in a breath.</p><p> </p><p>His pupils flutter around the room for a panicked moment, not exactly sure what else he's expecting to see, eyes painfully adjusting and focusing to the sudden intake of lighting in the room. His curtains are half open and the early white light of the winter morning pools onto his dark wood floor.</p><p> </p><p>He's in his bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>"What the…" he breathes, bringing his arm up to his face, lazily dropping his hand over his eyes. Beads of sweat roll down the side of his face as he moves. He grimaces, "The fuck?"</p><p> </p><p>Propping himself up onto one elbow, George looks down at himself, and frowns when he sees the state of his shirt. He must've sweat through the entire night, and his skin feels sticky and cold when he peels his shirt off his chest. "Ugh, did someone leave the heater on again?"</p><p> </p><p>He only says <em> again </em> because this isn't the first time George has woken up feeling like he's taken a dip in the shallow end of a lukewarm pool — in fact, it's the second time that week alone. The first time, George had woken up in the middle of the night abruptly, and to his horror, was practically melting into his mattress (Wilbur had apologised that time, sheepishly admitting he was feeling cold and accidentally left the heater working overnight).</p><p> </p><p><em>This time was no different</em>, he mentally complains as he throws his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and staring accusingly at the radiator in his room. Then, in a fit of annoyance towards said radiator, George stands up and stomps over to it, slamming his hand over the top of the metal —</p><p> </p><p>Only to pull his hand back at the chilling cold he's met with.</p><p> </p><p>He narrows his eyes, "Okay. Weird. Radiator is not on."</p><p> </p><p>Well no matter, because either way George feels horrible and damp in all the weird places and in desperate need of a shower —</p><p> </p><p>Or so he thinks before he catches a glance of the digital clock leaning against his desk in his blurry but trustworthy peripheral vision, the time mockingly reading <em>0</em> <em> 6:15 </em>in bright green. Fuck, too hopeful.</p><p> </p><p>Dejected at the current affairs he's found himself in, George drags his feet over to his bed again, grabbing his phone from the bedside table and pulling it off the charging cable.</p><p> </p><p>Unsurprisingly, he's already got a few messages awaiting him before he can check the weather for the day;</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b>StupidNap</b>
</p><p>geoooorge WAKE UP</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>StupidNap</b>
</p><p>good morning bestie</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>StupidNap</b>
</p><p>just reminding u dont</p><p>be late to the study group</p><p>or i'll eat ur mum &lt;3</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>StupidNap</b>
</p><p>and remember u cant</p><p>ditch because YOU</p><p>planned it</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sapnap</b>
</p><p>some fellas from the other</p><p>class are even coming so</p><p>u better not bail on me</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He didn't have time for a shower, not today. Instead; he has a study group to attend in less than an hour — because somehow that makes entirely more sense and not at all a horribly timed event. Not that he can complain all that much; after all, he <em> did </em>agree to attend at half seven in the morning — rather distraughtly but an acceptance nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>That being said, George throws off the old tattered graphic-t he slept in and exchanges it for a black hoodie conveniently placed on his chair, this isn't going to stop him from unhappily grumbling all the way down the stairs. He's even sorrowfully frowning down at his breakfast about ten minutes later, stabbing into it a little too forcefully than needed.</p><p> </p><p>"You look like shit." Comes a voice no less than five minutes into his little temper tantrum.</p><p> </p><p>George doesn't even need to look up from his bowl of soggy porridge and brown sugar to know who's insulting him at half six in the morning, "Good morning Puffy, you're as lovely as ever. Eat the souls of any innocent children yet?"</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck off," she states rather simply, walking around his slack frame propped against the counter like a rag doll to open the fridge — probably to drink orange juice straight from the carton like an animal<em> , again </em>— "Did you not sleep well? You look like you got sat on by a hippo."</p><p> </p><p>Slowly bringing a spoonful of his breakfast to his mouth, George hums in confirmation around the oats. He swallows thickly, feeling like every contraction of his muscles requires <em> far </em>more energy than they actually do before answering, "I genuinely can't remember if I slept or not. It was just — dark. Can't remember anything."</p><p> </p><p>"Now that's a bit fucking morbid," Puffy complains like this information has personally offended her honour, "You need to see a doctor of somthin', you little weirdo?"</p><p> </p><p>George rolls his eyes at his housemate, "Your concern is duly noted."</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't even bat an eye at the sarcasm, "You know, maybe it's because of all those video games you keep playing —"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh my god, are you my <em> mother</em>? I just had a bad night."</p><p> </p><p>"Well boohoo to you, I'm about to have a bad <em> day, </em> " she complains loudly, perhaps forgotten or not caring about the other sleep deprived university students trying to squeeze every bit of rest they can in the house, "Like — who the <em> fuck </em>schedules lectures at fucking seven in the morning?"</p><p> </p><p>"What time do you finish? Let's go to the caff, I want to go to buy a muffin," George asks through a yawn, grabbing another spoonful of porridge when the bowl is suddenly ripped away from under him. A small pool of milk and oats dribbles pathetically onto the counter top, and George just stares at it helplessly.</p><p> </p><p>Puffy grimaces, "Of course you want a <em> muffin</em>, you <em> nerd, </em>you eat like a grandpa!"</p><p> </p><p>"Those two things are hardly interchangeable," George mumbles, shoveling the last of the porridge and sugar into his mouth before Puffy can take the bloody spoon away from him too, "Besides, at least I actually <em> eat </em>something in the morning." He says with his mouth full, already up from the kitchen stool and walking towards the door.</p><p> </p><p>Puffy scoffs behind him, vaguely saying something that sounds a lot like 'Pussy' or 'Sissy' and, honestly, George doesn't care enough to ask for clarification.</p><p> </p><p>He turns the corner to the staircase sharply, narrowly missing slamming straight into Wilbur's half asleep but mostly <em> dead </em>body hobbling to the kitchen, mumbling a quick 'Sorry Will, Morning Will,' and immediately moving on before the man can muster a muffled reply to some startling degree.</p><p> </p><p>Skipping every other step on his way up to the bedrooms, George notices that Eret and Niki's doors are still firmly shut, and so he softens his footsteps as he approaches his own bedroom door, turning the knob to let himself in as quietly as he can muster. Padding into the room quickly, George shuts the door with a sigh of relief, wanting nothing more but to promptly drop himself into his unmade bed — still warm from the night before — and sleep until he dies or Minx graduates (whichever comes first).</p><p> </p><p>But alas, the sudden flash of his phone lighting up with a notification from his study group beckons him towards his cupboard; where he must transform and attempt to look <em> somewhat </em>presentable to be out in the general british public.</p><p> </p><p>Why he agreed to have this particular coding study group and half seven on a <em> Monday </em>was beyond him. So far beyond that it's nothing but a tiny dot in all the regrets George has up until this point. That being said; given this ungodly time was decided unanimously by the other members of the group as well, it only further proves that absolutely no one was in their right mind. But then again, no university student ever is.</p><p> </p><p>"I need a coffee," George grumbles under his breath as he punches around his messy cupboard for any sort of fabric that resembles jeans. He had already decided to show up in the hoodie he was already wearing, the one that <em> doesn't </em> have an unidentifiable orange stain on it, and he hopes his efforts for dressing up go completely and utterly <em> unnoticed </em> by anyone he comes into contact with.</p><p> </p><p>When by a miraculous turn of events and George does indeed find an old, seemingly washed, faded pair of blue jeans; he turns lethargically to the small mirror hooked onto the cupboard door, only to frown at the sight before him; almost tripping over his feet as he kicks his pajama pants off and pulls the jeans over his legs.</p><p> </p><p>His dark circles were painfully prominent that morning, a clear proof that his assumed sleepless night was indeed, sleepless.</p><p> </p><p>"For fucks sake," he mutters, pressing his fingers into the soft skin under his eyes, as if massaging them will somehow subdue the colour, "As if I didn't already look like shit."</p><p> </p><p>"Told you!" Puffy's unmistakable glee shouts from outside his door, to which he promptly ignores in favour of vigorously searching through his draws for his wallet and student ID, the cheap poundland clock on the wall slowly reaching the quarter to seven mark the more he stands around moping about his disheveled appearance. Sleep deprivation be damned, he wasn't going to be <em> late </em> to a study session <em> he </em>suggested.</p><p> </p><p>"George!" Comes a knock on the wall and the deep morning voice of a still sleepy Eret in the room directly beside his own, "Brush your teeth and wash your face before you leave!"</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck!" George cries out, dropping all his belongings onto the floor and instead slamming his bathroom door open, nearly slipping on the wet tile in his haste to the sink.</p><p> </p><p>"Ugh George, you grimey little stink!"</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>In record time, George is racing out the door with his laptop under his arm, bag around his shoulders and Niki's bright pink thermos flask filled to the brim with coffee in his hands (or what he hopes is coffee, since Wilbur just held it out to him on his way out the kitchen and who is he to question free beverages).</p><p> </p><p>"It's truly a testament to my abilities to still succeed after putting everything off to the last minute," he says haughtily, easily walking around a drunk student passed out in front of the accommodations. He's probably fine, someone's even put a blanket around him! That, or he's dead — but that's an issue for later.</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap laughs on the other end of the phone, "Yeah yeah, you can take a shit in less than a minute, congratulations! Now where the fuck are you?"</p><p> </p><p>"I'm walking to the library right now! Is everyone already there?"</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap hums, the sound of paper shuffling and a few muffled voices in the background, "Uh, looks like it. This guy I know from the other class is running late too, but maybe he overslept."</p><p> </p><p>"Lucky guy," George grumbles under his breath, "Just start without me, I'm still a couple minutes away."</p><p> </p><p>"You sure?" Sapnap asks in fake-empathy, because he's a horrible person. George doesn't even catch his next breath before the American is promptly moving on, "Well okay — see ya in a bit!"</p><p> </p><p>Sapnap doesn't hesitate before ending the call, and George is left with nothing but a bleak silence in his earphones as he slows down his walk to the library. He's going to be late anyway, why bother running? Besides, it's not really a group project; he's sure the group of highly educated and mature (Minus Sapnap) individuals in the computer science course can entertain themselves without him being there to mandate.</p><p> </p><p>Lost in thought, and this fucking <em> ace </em>coffee, George doesn't hear the hurried footsteps quickly approaching them from behind. Which is surprising; since you'd think given the existential fear one feels when being chased, a person would pay more attention to their surroundings — but no! Not George.</p><p> </p><p>Which is exactly why, unlike every other person on the pavement who moves out of the way of the running person, George continues to walk towards the library leisurely like it's the yellow brick road itself. This is also why, when he attempts to take another hearty sip of his coffee — the force of a thousand sumo wrestlers smashes straight into his back, sending both him and his coffee flying; in two seperate directions.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, so he's exaggerating, but George isn't the <em> biggest </em>guy on the block, and Minx has made fun of him before for being swept away by small gusts of wind; so when the stranger crashes into him, his body reacts far more dramatically than one should. He trips over his legs as he falls, his backpack breaking his fall before he can fracture his spleen (wherever that is, he doesn't study medicine).</p><p> </p><p>Not only is his coffee knocked out of his grasp, but so was his very <em> soul. </em>He's so baffled at the sudden collision — that George doesn't even move from his place on the wet cobbled floor until the suspect themself lets out a distressed groan.</p><p> </p><p>Finally collecting his bearings once more, George turns around to find the route cause of all his <em> misery </em>— only to choke on the words before they leave his throat.</p><p> </p><p>The boy — man? — is <em> huge. </em>George wonders if perhaps confronting said big-man dressed in a yellow (?) hoodie and grey sweatpants was a wise decision on his part, since his self defence is limited to that of three months of karate back in secondary school; but then he catches eye of Niki's coffee flask. The top lid had come off, and in a pathetic little puddle by the perpetrators feet, did lay his morning coffee.</p><p> </p><p>George sees nothing but red after that.</p><p> </p><p>"What the <em> fuck </em>man?" George calls incredulously before he can think better of it.</p><p> </p><p>The stranger frowns, rubbing the back of their head (seems they fell backwards) (good, George hopes he develops a concussion), but at least they look a little bashful when they reply with a seemingly genuine, "Sorry man, I was in such a rush I —"</p><p> </p><p>The accent is as plain as day, and suddenly, George feels the irrational need to blame everything on Sapnap, "<em> Of course </em>you're American."</p><p> </p><p>"The fuck?" The stranger has the absolute <em> audacity </em>to question, looking at George like he's grown another head and not insulted his nationality, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"</p><p> </p><p>"Do you not have pavements in America?" George counters, not entirely sure what he's saying, "Like, it's simple public etiquette. Stay on one side and <em> don't </em>knock people down like the fucking hulk."</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't do it on purpose! I thought you'd move!"</p><p> </p><p>"<em> Move </em> where?" George cries, "Onto the <em> road </em>?"</p><p> </p><p>The stranger goes pink in anger, "Listen man, I'm in a rush and I don't have time to listen to you bitch about —"</p><p> </p><p>"Dude! You made me drop my coffee!"</p><p> </p><p>The man suddenly stops, looking down to where George is flailing his arms around. His expression falls, and suddenly, he looks equally as upset as George, "Okay, yeah. Sorry about your coffee. I do feel bad about that."</p><p> </p><p>"You feel bad about dropping my coffee but not about dropping <em> me </em> ?" George is exasperated, he truly is. Americans just drain the ever-loving <em> life </em>out of them.</p><p> </p><p>"Again, it wasn't on purpose! I don't go round knocking little people over like some —"</p><p> </p><p>"Little?!"</p><p> </p><p>"Okay. Okay, fine!" The stranger cuts him off, running a hand through their hair. It's a strange colour. Sort of… brown, but then, <em> not </em> brown. George can't be sure, but then again, he doesn't care. This man could be bald for all he cares. "Here, let me help,"</p><p> </p><p>As George picks himself up off the ground, patting down his jeans and hoping to god his bum doesn't look as damp as it feels (curse you British weather), the stranger also picks up Niki's pink flask. He hopes it isn't broken, since an angry-Niki is a rare but horrifying experience; and the stranger pours out the last remaining drops of coffee into the little puddle, even screwing the cap back on.</p><p> </p><p>He sighs as he picks himself up again, having been so tall he practically had to fold himself in half to pick up the thermos flask. George watches him with a scowl, hoping it conveys the true displeasure he feels at this moment.</p><p> </p><p>The man doesn't seem phased though, as he passes the flask to George with a small grin, "Let's hope you didn't start an earthquake somewhere in the world."</p><p> </p><p>It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and when they do, George feels all sort of confused <em> again. </em> Seriously, what is <em> with </em>this man.</p><p> </p><p>"Did you just call me fat?"</p><p> </p><p>The man's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline so quickly, George hopes they fall right off, "What? No! No I didn't! What?"</p><p> </p><p>"You just said I caused an earthquake somewhere because I fell which —"</p><p> </p><p>"No!" They cry again before George can further tarnish their reputation (or what's left of it), "I was talking about the butterfly theory!"</p><p> </p><p>"You think I'm a <em> butterfly </em> ?" George questions in confusion, unsure whether this was some horrible attempt at Americans making small talk or if he was being insulted so <em> badly </em>he didn't even understand the roast.</p><p> </p><p>The man looks like he wants to rip his hair out with the way they shake with suppressed annoyance, "No! Oh my god — it's — it's like this theory that a butterfly flapping its wings on one side of the world could cause an earthquake on the other! You know, like in coding or an experiment when you — you like — you add too much of one chemical or you put the wrong number in and now the final outcome is like — drastically different to what you first anticipated!"</p><p> </p><p>The stranger is out of breath when they finish, cheeks pink in the excitement of talking about something they're obviously passionate about or in embarrassment because every single passerby on the street is looking at him like he's <em> insane. </em>George himself stops the witty insult half way, staring straight at the man with the utmost confusion.</p><p> </p><p>How was someone so big, so tall and so conventionally attractive — be an absolute <em> nerd </em>?</p><p> </p><p>But George would be found dead before he says any of that out loud, "As lovely as that sounds — it doesn't, by the way — what the fuck does it have to do with you bulldozing me over!"</p><p> </p><p>"It's an <em> expression </em>." The man cries in frustration, "You falling over might have just created a domino effect towards the demise of the entire human race!"</p><p> </p><p>George takes a moment to really, <em> really, </em>take in the moment. Before he immediately turns on his heels and speed walks away from the maybe-brown haired man who speaks like a Shakespeare tragedy. "Nope!" He cries for good measure as he's basically sprinting towards the library, "I'm not doing this today! Fuck off!"</p><p> </p><p>He makes a mental note to complain to the schools administers (otherwise known as the tory bunch who sit around and raise the prices in the canteen) about lunatics being allowed onto campus and attacking passersby with their unnecessarily huge builds and mildly concerning metaphors.</p><p> </p><p>And to kick Sapnap in the shins when he finally sees him, because something in his gut tells him that this is completely and utterly, all his fault.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. WHEN I LOSE MYSELF (NOT QUITE)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Times like these are when George questions why he decided to have friends instead of living in seclusion in the woods like some sort or hermit. Or simply become a serial killer and get rid of said friends, starting with Sapnap. Because Sapnap's horrible.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>lol dream's in prison now! let's hope he doesn't start manipulating rats to pass the time &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Attending the study group is quite anticlimactic given the proceedings that had taken place directly before it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After racing away from the weirdo outside, George had stormed into the common section of the library with a scowl, immediately finding a table surrounded by university students with their heads buried into their laptop screens — the bright light reflecting onto their glassy eyes. On any other occasion, George would have watched in quaint mortification of the decaying shells of his classmates; but he's far too perplexed to care about anything other than his abandoned coffee on the side of the road.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>Niki's flask was broken, he's a dead man walking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap catches him huffing towards the table through his peripheral vision like some sort of superhero and instantly perks up, ripping his eyes away from his laptop screen to wave to George excitedly. George tries his best to keep his angry expression, but then Sapnap reaches beside him to take his bag off a seat, pointing at it happily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap had saved him a seat, because of course he had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After meeting Sapnap at the university mixers events about a year ago, George could instantly tell the man’s personality was similar to that of his puppy back home. Excitable, easily pleased, loyal and fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>adorable. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Though George is a few years older than him and Sapnap's only a first year student they get along incredibly well — most the time, because Sapnap is still a massive dickhead. It makes him a little sick just how happy Sapnap could make him by simply showing up randomly to drink beer and watch stupid sitcoms from twenty years ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which is why it's incredibly difficult trying to stay mad when around Sapnap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unable to stop himself, George smiles when he meets eyes with Sapnap, relaxing his shoulders and walking over a little softer. The annoyance for his ruined morning bleeds out of him and onto the carpeted floor, and by the time he makes his way to the table, Sapnap is already reaching up to pull him into a hug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Morning gorgeous, you're late and you look like shit, </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Sapnap giggles into his ear and George rolls his eyes, but hugs back nonetheless. Because, you know, he's not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>monster.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam pats him on the back as he moves to sit on the seat between the two, "When has George ever been on time."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George opens his mouth to say something, but Callahans moving his hands before he can even attempt to justify himself. Unfortunately, George is surrounded by Americans, so he's unable to completely understand his friends sign language — but even then he remembers a few familiar ones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>George...shit...every day…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He narrows his eyes at Callahan when he's finished, "You're horrible." He states while the other grins. George then turns to address his other idiot friends, "You all are. I had a horrid morning and you're all bullying me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap snorts, probably mumbling something rude under his breath — which George completely ignores.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What happened?" Arguably the best out of them all, Sam, asks in concern.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This concern is what stops George short from ranting about his strange encounter that had happened moments earlier. Because, really, he's definitely over reacting about this. Besides — the more George talks about this butterfly-obsessed weirdo the more likely it is he'll show up to body slam him onto the side of the road </span>
  <em>
    <span>again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not to mention Sapnap would definitely not let this go until the day he </span>
  <em>
    <span>died</span>
  </em>
  <span>; and George really didn't need another thing for Sapnap to make fun of him for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he sighs dejectedly, dropping his head onto the table instead, "It's fine Sam. I just didn't sleep well."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can't see Sam but he imagines him raising one of his brows sceptically, "You didn't sleep well or you didn't sleep </span>
  <em>
    <span>at all</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George rolls his eyes. Not at Sam but at his pathetic excuse of a life, "More like I can't even remember if I slept."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Seriously dude?" Sapnap grumbles angrily on his behalf, "This is like the third time this month! Do you want to go to the hospital about it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George appreciates the sentiment, he really does. But he feels a little bad for not telling Sapnap about the dozens of other times this has happened as well, though it's probably for the best — since, if Sapnap discovered his little problem was actually a </span>
  <em>
    <span>daily </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing, he would have been sitting on a hospital bed at Queen Mary's by now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This wasn't always a problem. The first few times George had woken up, head spinning and eyes blistered and feeling a little out of it; he had written it down as an effect of stress. His revision had been hard and his exams were even </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder </span>
  </em>
  <span>that month</span>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so it was only understandable that his body was having a tough time catching up with his dozens of instant coffees and all-nighters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But by the third week, and a long lecture about his screen time from Sapnap, everyone was growing a little concerned. So George just told everyone it was fine, and he was okay (After all, Niki had threatened to remove his door from its hinges if he didn't sleep soon, which is arguably a much less extreme method when considered Minx offered to knock him out with her fist so he would get a few hours of rest).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He most definitely was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>okay, but what they don't know can't hurt them — or his dignity. Or his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine Sap," George mumbles, his forehead cool against the cold wood of the table, "I stayed up really late the last few days so my sleep schedule is fucked."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam whistles appreciatively, "You're right. I remember I woke up to pee at like four AM and it said you were active on Discord."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George winces when Sapnap cuffs him behind the head for that, and he faintly hears Callahan giggle at his misery — but all of a sudden, George is washed over with a wave of absolute fatigue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Whether it's from Sapnap's frankly draining existence, or the crazy coffee catastrophe, or maybe since, you know, he hasn't slept in </span><em><span>days </span></em><span>— George lets his heavy eyelids fall. He feels a little ridiculous having got out of bed to attend a study group only to fall </span><em><span>asleep </span></em><span>before</span> <span>any real studying had taken place, but the group seems to sense his sudden conscious depletion; and the table falls silent once more. Sapnap pats his head once (as an apology) and rubs a few circles on his back (because he's disgustingly lovely), and by the end of it George is holding onto consciousness with a thin thread.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few moments later, Sapnap begins to type on his laptop once again, and the gentle clicks of his keyboard is all it takes to finally lull him to sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his cheek pressed against the cool table and eyes shut tight, George let's himself melt into the missed bliss of sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a second, the muffled mutters of classmates and tapping of keys around him dilute into the air — and George feels it move further and further away from him, as he grows smaller and smaller. The desk pulls from under him and one second he's holding on and the next; he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>falling.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it isn't an abrupt plunge into the darkness, but rather, a constant glide down into deep waters. Only it's not cold and wet and scary, quite the opposite actually. He feels warm and wrapped up in something that makes his descent into sleep safer. Though… he's not sure if he's awake anymore. Perhaps he's already asleep. Or rather, stuck in a wave between the ocean and the shore or consciousness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that he minds, because this is the most lucid he's felt in weeks. So he welcomes it; and falls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He falls for a time so convoluted his mind can't tell if it's been seconds or hours — just a constant looping. But he feels the end approaching, but it's not scary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, he hits the bottom;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's softer than he imagined.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He stretches his fingers out first, feeling the surface of his landing with lethargic limbs. George feels like he's walked for days, acid buildup in his muscles and dragging him further down into the soft ground he fell on. His eyes are still closed when he grabs onto the floor, but raises his eyebrows when he feels the material pull up in between his fingertips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's a quilt. He's woken up in bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows immediately that it isn't his, whether that be from the distant smell of cedar wood and grass or just his intuition — but at that moment it feels like the world's softest mattress in the world; albeit what feels like straw and scratchy yarn pokes at his cheeks. This false sense of security is enough to let him slowly peel his eyes open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's not sure what he was expecting to see when he slowly begins to blur the bright orbs into understandable figures, but he can't stop the surprised gasp that slips past his lips when he processes the view in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George has woken up in some sort… cottage. The ceiling is incredibly low and an odd white colour, and the walls seem to be made with wood and nothing but wood. Beside the bed is a slab of dark wood, seemingly supposed to be some sort of bed side table, and on it is a little wooden cup. There's an obvious lack of — well, anything modern. The straw in the bed makes sense, now that he sees the rest of the little house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There's some sort of oven, or furnace, at the other side of the room; and a crafting bench with pieces of wood and stone on it. But that's hardly what catches his attention, rather, George is absolutely transfixed on the figure who sits on a little bench in what he guesses is the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Although they're sitting down, George can guess that they're incredibly tall, with how their legs and folded awkwardly. He's dressed in dark, shining armour — </span>
  <em>
    <span>armour</span>
  </em>
  <span> — and across his back is a huge axe of the same colour, the handle rotten and frayed from constant use. However, something about the way the man sits, an arm behind the back of the bench and the other lazily running through his blonde — brown? — hair; George suspects the axe is not used for chopping down trees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George doesn't want to blink, so he stares in hidden fear and morbid curiosity, not wanting to miss a single inch of the strangers face —</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or, lack thereof.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because they don't have a face — or they do, but it's hidden behind a mask. The colour is obviously white, but the cracks are so old and some so deep that they've darkened into a grey; one particular deep line runs through the middle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then, there are two dots for eyes and long curved line for a smile. What the fuck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ugh," George groans, making the stranger startle as he covers his eyes from the sunlight pouring through the windows with his hand, "What the hell am I dreaming about?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stranger jumps out of their seat, and George audibly gawks and how bloody tall he is — and that he's wearing a fucking cape like some sort of fairytale prince.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"George!" They cry, and George chokes on his breath, "You're awake!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who the fuck…" George grumbles in shock, but then frowns when he sees the stranger stretch their shoulders, "Have you just been sitting there watching me sleep?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stranger looks at him for a long moment, his expression completely devoid. George's frown deepens, unsure whether the person is judging him or figuring something else out completely. George can't recall ever dreaming about faceless tall men who watch him sleep in poorly made cottages, but then again George can't really recall ever <em>dreaming </em>in general — so who is he to question the logistics.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>It's a dream after all, it isn't <em>supposed </em>to make sense.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stranger then chuckles suddenly, walking over to George in four long strides. He leans down a bit, and all of a sudden, George can't see anything but the mask a few inches from his own face. He presses forward just a little bit and the mask knocks George's forehead. It hurts more than he expected, the material being thick and heavy. George, in surprise, rubs his head as the stranger dressed in armour begins to wheeze with laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What the fuck? Why did you do that?" George asks incredulously as the masked man laughs even louder. He's holding his side as he hobbles to the kitchen, pulling out what looks like a loaf of bread from a chest next to the crafting bench in between breaths of air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh George," They laugh in a tone far too fond, "You're so weird."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"<em>I'm</em> weird —?!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just lay back down," He says, laughter slowly dissipating into the air but a ghost of a smile still on their lips, "You haven't slept well in ages."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rolling his eyes at being bossed around, George complies nonetheless. It seems even in his bloody dreams he's an insomniac. But it's a little strange how it all feels so real yet so… different. Like this is a place he's familiar with, yet has never been to before. Heard it once in a lullaby, maybe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groans loudly, making the stranger giggle. This is all a whole lot of unnecessary thinking for a dream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Can I have some coffee?" George asks tiredly, dropping himself back onto his — or the masked man's — bed. Who's ugly house even is this?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man in question turns around from where he's making some sort of sandwich. And though he can't tell what expression he's got on, the way he tips his head to the side conveys utmost confusion. "I… don't know what coffee is but I can make you some mushroom soup?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mushroom </span>
  </em>
  <span>— what kind of dream is this? No coffee? Mushroom </span>
  <em>
    <span>soup?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" George cries in shock and disgust. Why would he ever dream about a place with no coffee?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though his expression is hidden behind the confines of the mask, George can somehow tell that the stranger dressed in glistening armour and a cape is staring down at him with a funny look. His shoulders shake lightly in silent laughter, "You think you're dreaming right now? Oh come on, George, it's time to wake up now. We have to meet up with Sapnap soon."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mention of his best friend's name leaving this strangers mouth with such familiarity stuns George awake. He sits up onto his elbows, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden. Sapnap?</span>
  <span> The stranger stops making whatever food it was, and pushes the cape back behind him as he walks back on over to George.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What did you just say?" George whispers incredulously, unable to wrap his head around the sudden development of this fever dream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stranger chuckles, leaning down further. The bleak and empty dots on the mask bore into his own, "I said, it's time to wake up, George."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait you just said —!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Wake up, George."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Come on, George. Wake up.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>
  <span>"FUCK!" George's eyes shoot open as a startled scream leaves his throat, and he throws his head back in alarm as he sits up; nearly tipping himself straight over the back of the chair. The bright fluorescent lights of the library pour into his eyes and cover them painfully at the sudden onslaught.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's awake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George doesn't even find a moment to gather his thoughts or bearings before Sapnap is reaching over to smack the back of his head again, hissing angrily, "Shut it, you moron! We are in a library!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George winces, rubbing the back of his head as he shoots Sapnap an equally as annoyed look, "Fuck! I'm sorry — okay? I just had a weird dream."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You've only been asleep for like half an hour," Sam snorts under his breath, and Sapnap rolls his eyes,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Weird?" He queries, wiggling his eyebrows far too aggressively, "Ooh, George you </span>
  <em>
    <span>rascal.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Times like these are when George questions why he decided to have friends instead of living in seclusion in the woods like some sort or hermit. Or simply become a serial killer and get rid of said friends, starting with Sapnap. Because Sapnap's horrible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sapnap, you're horrible." George says aloud to get the point across.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap winks at him, "I hear it's one of my best charms —"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Where the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>did you hear that from —"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"— </span>
  <em>
    <span>but </span>
  </em>
  <span>anyways," he muses before George can deflate his enormous ego, "Look what gift santa got you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George feels an irrational need to let Sapnap know that christmas was almost two months ago, but stops short when he turns back to the desk to see what his 'gift' was. He's not sure was he was expecting, maybe a half eaten bagel or a chewed up rubber — but no.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's a medium sized cup of steaming black coffee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George frowns, his dream and the faceless stranger laughing obnoxiously at the back of his head. The vivid dream is beginning to fade away now, and while George can't remember the details too well when they grow fuzzier; he definitely remembers the coffee. "How did you — you bought me coffee?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap looks a little troubled, if not equally as confused when he answers, "I didn't, actually, Clay did."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who the fuck is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clay</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George freezes when he hears a deep chuckle in front of him; from the seat beside Callahans. The laugh itches at his brain a little, and just as George looks up, the stranger begins to speak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hello again," they say with a smirk, "I'm Clay."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's the butterfly-earthquake-coffee-catastrophe boy, in the flesh. George suddenly wants to jump out the nearest window and pray he lands on some poor unsuspecting grandma to end his miserable no-good rotten luck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"YOU —!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, he knows this is all Sapnap's fault.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>let me know what you think! thank u for all the support!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. WHEN WE CRASH LAND (INTO WATER)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The water is cold and thrilling, but George's skin feels hot with blood burning underneath and chest aflame. He feels ridiculous as he lets himself sink to the bottom. The masked figure holds onto him tightly, their dark hair flowing out from the side of the mask and twirling in the water.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>woooh! its been a while!! here, have a long chapter as an apology &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Are you fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>stalking </span>
  </em>
  <span>me?" George demands in outrage when he finally gets his bearings correct, staring at Clay from across the library table like it was a poorly planned court hearing. Sapnap was giving him a strange look, and Sam an even stranger one; both looking ready to jump on top of him if he tried to get up and slap that smug smile off the other man's face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Speaking of, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clay</span>
  </em>
  <span> scoffs coyly, looking over to Callahan, "No, I'm not. I'm a student here."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>C-L-A-Y in my class, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Callahan signs besides the weirdo-butterfly-boy with a smirk, like the traitor he is. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sapnap invited him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You —" George turns to Sapnap abruptly, narrowing his eyes and pointing a finger in accusation, "I knew this was all your fault!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey!" The boy shouts in indignation, holding up his hands, "I didn't know you two knew each other!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We don't," Clay says the same time George attempts to stab Sapnap in the eye with his index finger, looking incredibly uncomfortable. George let's out a strange sort of snort, quietly thinking to himself; </span>
  <em>
    <span>serves him right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He hopes he stays extremely uncomfortable for the rest of the day, "I accidentally bumped into him this morning."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George scoffs, "That's an understatement, you threw me onto the floor."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam looks up from his laptop in surprise, "You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that's </span>
  </em>
  <span>an </span>
  <em>
    <span>overstatement</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Clay argues, the end of his sentence travelling an octave higher to convey his sheer distress at George's words, "I didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>throw </span>
  </em>
  <span>you. I accidentally knocked you over."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You — what?!" Sam repeats, but goes completely ignored as George narrows his eyes at the blonde (brown?) haired man in the obnoxious yellow hoodie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>my coffee," George supplies as if it's a crucial point to this disagreement, which, it definitely is in his opinion. There are very few things that are able to get George riled up as he is now, including but not limited to fallen coffee, annoying butterfly-obsessed-boys and Sapnap (but not Sam, never Sam) (Callahan's on thin ice).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clay winces at that again, perhaps truly understanding the sheer pain of dropping a perfectly wonderful cup of coffee, "I know. I said sorry. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>I bought you a new one."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George's mouth falls open, whatever insult that was on his tongue dies before it leaves his lips. He had almost forgotten about the newly brewed cup of coffee that sits in front of him, Clay's presence enough to annoy him into temporarily ignoring it. But now that he sees it again, George is just even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>annoyed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This —"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George gets cut off from saying something (probably) rude by Clay holding up his hand, like he was silencing a dog (This only aggravates George more than he already was), reaching into his hoodie pocket with the other, "I didn't know if you took it with sugar, so…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He then throws the contents onto the table, a few of the small packets of sugar sliding across to George's side. Packets. Of sugar. Brown and White.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam snorts as George is rendered speechless, "Did you get creamer too?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was very much obviously joking, but when Clay responds with a wicked and far too smug smile, reaching back into his pocket, George can immediately tell that this fool is the biggest sore loser on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>planet</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"As a matter of fact, I did."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three small cups of creamer roll over to him as well, just nearly falling off the edge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You bought me coffee." George says out loud, not sure what else he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clay smiles proudly like he's just solved world hunger with a paper Costa cup, "And sugar."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait." Sapanap suddenly pipes in as George continues to stare into the cup of dark coffee, seemingly searching for the secrets of the world in the murky beverage, "Is that why you were late?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Huh?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You said you overslept," Sapnap clarifies with an evil sort of smile that George very much doesn't like, "But you were actually buying George coffee? Oh Clay you sly little —"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hold on a minute!" Clay suddenly shouts, looking horrified, "It isn't like that, you dick! I just felt bad."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm so confused," George murmurs, dropping his head onto Sam's shoulders in despair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam snorts, his laughter rumbling from his chest to George's which is comforting enough, </span>
  <em>
    <span>until</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clay suddenly feels obliged to talk to him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're welcome." He states somewhat sourly, glaring at George.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George pulls himself off of Sam in a hurry, nearly headbutting the poor man in his haste to absolutely ruin Clay's day, "For what? I didn't say thank you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh, hello? I bought you coffee!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay?" George asks quizzically as Clay's expression falls from one of confused annoyance to absolute pure </span>
  <em>
    <span>rage, </span>
  </em>
  <span>"I didn't ask you to buy me anything? You don't owe me anything."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that, you prick. I was being a nice person and replacing the drink I knocked over!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well congratulations on that! I didn't ask!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh my fucking god!" Clay cries in outrage, throwing his arms up into the air as he swivels his seat around to stare at Callahan incredulously. His eyebrows are furrowed and nostrils flaring like George had purposely offended the honour of his first born child, "Is he being for real right now?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Callahan looks incredibly uninterested by this entire affair, staring boredly at Clay to then giving George an unimpressed look. He conveys so much disinterest and disappointment with his eyes at George alone for pissing off Clay this much over something so trivial. After all, it was just a small altercation; the two of them might become friends and joke about this entire ordeal in a month's time! He almost feels a little bad about upsetting him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>being the keyword.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Since just as George was about to force gratitude out his mouth so appease the five year old child that is Clay No-Last-Name-Given, said boy turns to George abruptly, looking like George's very being was a hate crime.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He purses his lips together, before stating, "This wouldn't even be an issue if weren't fucking five feet tall."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm five-nine you bastard!" George shouts as Callahan rolls his eyes, already packing up his things in anticipation for the librarian to come over and rain hellfire on their table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That sounds like a personal issue," Clay spits and for a second the other students sat at the table wonder if they're even truly talking about height anymore, "It's embarrassing, keep that shit to yourself."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sapnap's five eight." Sam mumbles unhelpfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And a half!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Shut up Sapnap!" George shouts almost on instinct as Clay narrows his eyes at him angrily, "Now you listen here, you tall lanky Willy Wonka built —"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Willy Wonka —"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Bitch,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" George rumbles, anger boiling under his skin, "Take back your fucking coffee and never interact with me ever again."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clays eyebrows fly incredibly high all the way up to his hairline in shock, "What? No! I bought that drink because I felt bad so you can't </span>
  <em>
    <span>refuse </span>
  </em>
  <span>my act of kindness."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Act of kind— you just insulted me!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I insulted you </span>
  <em>
    <span>after </span>
  </em>
  <span>I bought the coffee!" He informs as if this changes literally anything, "You can't refuse it!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck off!" George shouts, gripping the cup and sliding it across to Clay angrily, the dark contents sloshing to one side dangerously, "Take it back!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clay's nostrils flare as he too grabs the cup, his much larger hands covering both George's fingers and the cup as he slides it back over to him. He's fuming, "No! Just accept it so we can move on!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't want it!" George pushes it back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Take the coffee George!" Clay pushes it back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam eyes the poor Costa cup nervously, watching as some of the coffee splashes droplets over the edge, the two immature men completely unbeknownst as they try to one up each other. The paper begins to bend but neither George nor Clay stop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh, guys —" Sapnap mumbles, catching Sam's panicked expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't want your pity coffee!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just take the damn thing you drama queen!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Callahan sighs, moving his folder from the desk as the two fools push the cup towards each other at the same time, pushing the content up and out of the cup like some poorly designed coffee volcano.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing George sees before scalding hot coffee blinds him, is Clay's </span>
  <em>
    <span>infuriatingly </span>
  </em>
  <span>idiotic </span>
  <em>
    <span>face.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why's it smell like the coffee machine blew up?" Is the first thing Puffy complains about when she walks into the house, her handbag in one hand and a small corner shop blue bag in the other, undoubtedly filled with more Pringles than safely consumable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She then catches eye of George and Sapnap sat on the sofa with their hands in their laps and their heads facing the floor like children in timeout, Wilbur Soot in all his glory (a pink bathrobe and slippers) standing between them with a stern look, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose like an angry second period English teacher. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Puffy frowns, "Uh, what the fucks going on?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur completely ignores her, as per usual, and instead continues to stare down at George with fiery eyes, "George. Let me get this straight —"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap scoffs at the word choice, because he's a child. George only slightly manages to stop himself from elbowing him in the rib.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"— you </span>
  <em>
    <span>attacked </span>
  </em>
  <span>him in the library?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George looks up in alarm, eyes wide, "What? No! I didn't attack anyone!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Puffy gasps, "George got into a scrap? In the </span>
  <em>
    <span>library</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I didn't!" George repeats, obviously not content with being accused of things he didn't do, "I swear I didn't!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Then what's this I hear about flying coffee and a black eye?" Wilbur challenges, looking disappointedly between Sapanp and then George — which is far more upsetting than him being angry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George stutters on his words, completely taken aback by whatever randomness Wilbur is talking about; when it suddenly all clicks. His expression of shock falls into one of absolute distaste as he slowly turns his head from Wilbur back down to Sapnap — who's sitting beside him looking as innocent as a daisy, eyes staring intently down at the hard wood floor. But George knows better; there is absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>innocent about Sapnap. Nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To prove his point, George grits through his teeth and with suppressed anger manages to call, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sapnap…"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay!" The other immediately caves, looking up sheepishly as he rubs the back of his neck, "I might have posted on Twitter that you gave Clay a black eye!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> —?!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I wanted to make it more exciting! And in my defence — I said you won the fight!" Then Sapnap purses his lips, looking George up and down, "You should be grateful, since we both know you would have actually lost if it was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> fight."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George suddenly sees nothing but flaming hot </span>
  <em>
    <span>red, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but before he can introduce his fist to Sapnap's stupid face — Wilbur is intervening like the goddamn saint he is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait so," he starts, looking as confused as Puffy (who is furiously eating Pringles on the floor), "You </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't </span>
  </em>
  <span>get into a fight?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No Wilbur, I obviously didn't!" George cries, gesturing down to himself, "Clay's like 6'5!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who the fuck is Clay?" Puffy asks around a mouthful of Pringles, and George feels at least four years of his lifespan deplete in that one question alone. Because, really, who the fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>Clay? He showed up this morning to bodyslam George into the pavement at half seven, and then about an hour later to throw scalding hot coffee on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, so maybe the last one wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clay's fault — but it was still important to note the only reason George and Sapnap are covered in cold drying coffee is because of this weirdo who's obsessed with butterflies. Not to mention the three of them (not Sam he's innocent) (and not Callahan either, because he's terrible) were banned from the library for a month.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anger and frustration only boils in his stomach as he recalls the absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>shock </span>
  </em>
  <span>painted on Clay's face the moment the coffee was flung into the air, and like some poorly directed looney toons cartoon, George watches in horror as the coffee flies through the air before landing directly on top of him and Sapnap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's truly a testament to his self control that he didn't reach over and attempt to pull Dream's stupid fluffy hair out of his scalp then and there, instead, he opted to grab his bag and immediately </span>
  <em>
    <span>sprint </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of the library, shame and embarrassment and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fury </span>
  </em>
  <span>bubbling under his skin the entire way. The library was completely silent, everyone too stunned to even laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap followed shortly behind George, though, it seems he was far less infuriated by the events given he had time to fabricate </span>
  <em>
    <span>tweets </span>
  </em>
  <span>about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George sighs, dropping his head into his hands, a headache slowly growing at the back of his head, "Today's been a shit show."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Puffy snorts, "You're telling me, they didn't have any sour cream and onion Pringles!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur throws one of his slippers at Puffy's head before he ducks down to gently pat George on the back, face contorted in worry, "Sounds like it. How about you go take a nap?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ooh, can I join?" Sapnap asks childishly, but before George can refuse (though it wouldn't do much, since even if he locked his door, Sapnap would find a way to break in and cuddle into his bed like a rat), Wilbur does so for him — reaching over with the other hand to pinch Sapnap's ear in reprimand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap winces as Wilbur glares, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>will delete the tweets you made before someone spreads anymore rumours about George and whoever the hell Clay is, and then you'll take a shower — you stink of coffee."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So does George!" Sapnap argues, but George is already up and walking away, eager to lie down and sleep the headache away before it ruins his entire week.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Puffy laughs obnoxiously at that, which only makes Wilbur throw his remaining slipper at her — but this time he doesn't miss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She screams overdramatically like she had just got stabbed instead of hit in the head with a piece of rubber and fluff as George reaches the top of the stairs; only to be cut off by the front door opening with haste, the sounds of keys jingling and someone running in. Then, George hears Eret's voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I heard George gave some guy called Calvin a broken arm!" She says as Sapnap and Puffy burst out into uncontrollable laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur groans, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sapnap</span>
  </em>
  <span>!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George slams his door before he can hear anything else, head </span>
  <em>
    <span>pounding</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he drags his feet to the bathroom. While he doesn't have nearly enough energy in his body to pull himself into the shower, he at least wants to wipe his face and wet his hair before the sticky coffee begins to clump up. He can shower once he wakes up, which is hopefully never.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In fact, George would be perfectly fine with hitting his pillow and simply never getting up again, rotting away in his self pity and embarrassment. Maybe if he dies, George can come back as a ghost and ruin Clay's life, like stealing his forks and breaking his phone charger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though, George realises, as he stares hopelessly into the sink, the tap water pooling at the bottom, that wishing for such things was futile; and he would in fact have to some day run into Clay again. It's a terrible thought, but given that they share mutual friends, and that they're on the same course, it's almost humorous to hope they wouldn't run into each other again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The very thought of having to confront Clay after he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrown coffee onto him</span>
  </em>
  <span> was enough to make George's head spin, his hand instantly latching onto the sink basin to catch his balance. The running water from the tap and muffled conversations downstairs sound all too powerful, pounding into every crevice of his mind and sending painful stings through the front of his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck," George groans, rubbing his temples as the headache and dizziness comes back to hit him at full force, "Just thinking about him makes me want to pass out."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's a poor choice of words, really — since not even a minute later does George feel his knees buckle painfully, the muscles in his hands giving out and letting go of the sink; and before he knows it —</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George is falling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's all gone white.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>George's eyes snap open, only to immediately squint closed again as a sudden influx of sunlight assaults his pupils. He stumbles back haphazardly while shielding his eyes, only to immediately knock into a pair of broad shoulders and heavy metal, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>oof</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound emitting from them as George holds his breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He freezes, absolutely still, too afraid and too confused to look around and figure where the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The person George had impolitely walked into chuckles slowly, though the end of their laughter fades away into a deflated wheeze; one of their arms coming round to snake around George's waist. It's hardly in a creepy or harassive way, but rather, it's soft and genuine — a bit warm but rough around the edges —</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The embrace feels… familiar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George spins around in one flurry of emotion, pushing himself away from the person and almost toppling over the side of a very poorly thought out bridge, but to his absolute horror, the stranger reaches out and latches onto his shirt, their armoured body moving jerkily to catch him before he falls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George stares helplessly at the stranger, hands dangling behind him as they hold him above the water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only, it's not exactly a stranger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I told Sapnap we should've put fences around the community house," they say cheekily, gently pulling George back onto the path and away from the edge, "One day someone's going to fall into the lake and accidentally drown."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George is speechless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The horribly unfamiliar familiarity of the voice is almost a little painful, but slowly, George recollects the memories of this specific being.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's the masked person from his previous dream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What the fuck," George replies dumbly, staring down at the wooden path in awe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, this was all a dream; a very self aware one at that. It was a little disconcerting, seeing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>same </span>
  </em>
  <span>person in two consecutive dreams — but this wasn't unheard of. After all, George can recount jumping back into dreams or having a handful take place at the time same —</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though none as detailed as this one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The setting was different now, instead of the tiny but cozy cottage it was a large open landscape, the smell of firewood and stone and </span>
  <em>
    <span>nature </span>
  </em>
  <span>everywhere. The two of them were standing in front of a large wooden house, built in the middle of a lake. There were two or three paths leading in different directions from the centre of the house, like a train station.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Community house, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks the masked person had said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Speaking of;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What's your name?" George asks seriously before he can find himself getting anxious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The masked person stares down at George, their ceramic expression still and silent. The smiley face doesn't move, obviously, but for a second George imagines the painted streaks of the smile grow a little bigger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then, they laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's a wonderful, boisterous, </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy </span>
  </em>
  <span>laugh. Sort of childish in an endearing way, like the sound of their own laughter only makes them laugh more. It's infectious, so much so that as confused and at a loss for words as George is — he feels the corners of his mouth twitch up. The person with the smiling mask doubles over, shoulders shaking and clutching onto the side of their stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What's," George says amusedly, unable to stop the laughter from affecting him, "What's so funny?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You genuinely looked horrified when you asked for my name, George," They reply out of breath, "I almost thought you'd definitely forgotten."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George stops laughing now, feeling all kinds of terrible. He realises now that this is one of those </span>
  <em>
    <span>guess-as-you-go </span>
  </em>
  <span>type of dreams, and so, he starts to play along.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Right…" he chuckles, twiddling with his thumbs, "I was joking, yeah."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stranger — or, not quite a stranger laughs again, tilting their head to the side like a confused puppy. They seem a little troubled, clearing their throat as they lean down into George's space, and it takes all of his willpower not to pull away or push the masked figure away in surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Where's your armour, George?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shorter of the two blinks, surprised by the sudden shift in tone, "What?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Your armour," they clarify, bringing one hand up to lay flat against George's chest (his heart skips, butterflies suddenly tickling his stomach at the casual touch, but he feels ridiculous for feeling this way almost immediately), "I told you, didn't I? That I can feel conflict on the horizon, so you should wear your armour more?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Conflict?" George asks again, wondering why he's become so nervous he's only communicating in one word questions, "What conflict?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The masked man takes his hand off George's chest slowly, fingertips dancing on the fabric of his shirt as he pulls away, finally giving George some air to breathe. They seem taken aback by George's question, stepping back a little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wilbur seems to want independence from us, a little box called L'Manberg, or something" he drops casually, and George can't help the confused </span>
  <em>
    <span>gwak?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>sound that leaves his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George tries to recollect his words as the masked stranger startles at the strange sound, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur</span>
  </em>
  <span>? How can you — wait a minute —"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay George? You're acting really… weird…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine, I'm fine, wait no actually," George shakes his head, frowning in disbelief and confusion all at once, "What do you mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Like my — my roommate, Wilbur?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> —?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And what do you mean you can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>conflict on the horizon," he asks before he thinks better of it, an eyebrow raised, "What are you — a Disney villain?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The masked man seems to pause for a second, shocked, "I don't — I don't know what that is, George. Are you, are you feeling okay? Do you need some sleep? Or… a healer?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I need —" George grabs the side of his head, suddenly feeling it pound against his skull, "Ugh, I need to cool off. This is the strongest dream I've ever had."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh c'mon, George, this isn't a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dream,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" The masked man giggles, like there was some sort of an inside joke there that George wasn't aware of, suddenly walking up to him. Before George can ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, or who the hell <em>he even was —</em> the masked figure pulls off his purple armoured chess plate. Then his boots, and finally, moves to unclasp his leggins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George panics, throwing his hands to his face in mortification, "What the — what the <em>fuck?! </em>Why are you undressing."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears them laugh again, a deep one this time, and suddenly, their hands are pulling George's away from his face. The masked stranger is wearing a fairly horrible piss-coloured tunic under their armour, and deep brown trousers, their armour in a pile by their feet. As George stares in abject horror, they reach up to cup either side of George's face, tickling his cheeks with the pad of their thumb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Want to go for a swim?" He then asks, with a tone that sends George's heart running for miles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Uh, no, no thanks," George attempts to reason, but before he can truly make his choice heard, he's falling backwards.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The masked stranger let's go of his face to grab his waist and shoulders, the two of them going tumbling into the lake outside of the community house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>George holds his breath, bracing for impact, but it never comes — as at the last moment he's being spun around, and the masked figure takes the crashing of the surface water for them, pulling George down into the water softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The water is cold and thrilling, but George's skin feels hot with blood burning underneath and chest aflame. He feels ridiculous as he lets himself sink to the bottom. The masked figure holds onto him tightly, their dark hair flowing out from the side of the mask and twirling in the water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sight is... fairly beautiful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he doesn't enjoy it for long, as without warning, everything goes white.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i have a <a href="https://twitter.com/orpheusaki?s=09">twitter</a> now!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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